Jennifer’s Journey

🌅 Every Breath Is a New Chapter

I found the lump in January 2011. It was small, almost dismissible, tucked into the quiet curve of my left breast. I was 41, and it was my first mammogram. I remember the sterile chill of the clinic, the hum of machines, and the way time seemed to pause when the doctor said, “We need to do a biopsy.”

February brought the diagnosis: triple negative breast cancer — Stage 3. I didn’t even know what that meant then, but I quickly learned it was one of the most aggressive forms. I began chemo — the “red devil” — later that month. It scorched through my body, stealing my strength and sometimes, my hope.

But I wasn’t alone.

My husband Roy was my rock — limitless, unwavering, and always present. He held me through the worst nights, made me laugh when I forgot how, and reminded me daily that love is stronger than fear. My three daughters became my lifelines. They held my hand through the nausea, whispered prayers into the night, and filled our home with warmth and determination.

In June, I had a mastectomy on the left side. I was told I had a 5% chance of recurrence. I clung to that number like a lifeboat. But cancer doesn’t play by the rules.

By September 2012, a spot appeared in my right breast. Precancerous cells. A lumpectomy followed, and then in May 2013, I chose to have a mastectomy on the right side during reconstruction. I wanted to reclaim my body, to draw a line in the sand. But cancer crossed it.

In November 2013, a new spot emerged on my left chest wall — where it all began. The biopsy confirmed my fear: it was back. Surgery came in January 2014, followed by another round of chemo. This time, my body needed help — blood transfusions, platelet infusions. I felt like a patchwork quilt, stitched together by science and sheer will.

Radiation returned in June. Twenty‑five rounds. Same place. Same burning. Same prayers.

Then came May 2018. My left hand stopped working properly. My left eye drooped. I knew something was wrong. Scans revealed spots in my lung and brachial plexus. Stage 4. Terminal. “You’ll be in treatment for the rest of your life,” they said.

I didn’t cry. Not then. I went home and listened to my daughters argue over dinner recipes. I breathed. And in that breath, I found resolve.

I tried three clinical trials. None lasted. Then came Trodelvy. I’m now on my 80th round. Eighty. And I’m still here.

I’ll be 56 this August. I live in Kissimmee, Florida, surrounded by the chaos and comfort of family. My daughters are now mothers themselves, and since 2018, I’ve been blessed with eight grandchildren who think I’m invincible. And maybe, in some ways, I am.

Cancer taught me that life is not promised. It’s a gift wrapped in uncertainty. It taught me that resilience isn’t loud — it’s quiet and stubborn. It’s waking up and choosing to fight, even when your body begs for rest.

I’ve walked through the valley of shadows. I’ve danced with mortality. But I’ve also held newborns in my arms, watched sunsets paint the Florida sky, and laughed until my ribs ached.

To anyone reading this — especially fellow survivors — know this: every breath is a new chapter. And even in the darkest pages, there is light. There is love. There is you.

💬 Frequently Asked Questions (FAQ)

🩺 What is triple negative breast cancer?

Triple negative breast cancer (TNBC) is a type of breast cancer that doesn’t have estrogen, progesterone, or HER2 receptors. It’s more aggressive and harder to treat than other types, but there are emerging therapies offering hope.

💉 What is “red devil” chemo?

It’s a nickname for a chemotherapy drug called doxorubicin. It’s bright red and potent, often used in treating aggressive cancers. The side effects can be intense, but it’s also effective.

🧬 What is Trodelvy?

Trodelvy is a newer treatment for metastatic triple negative breast cancer. It’s an antibody-drug conjugate that targets cancer cells while sparing healthy ones. For me, it’s been a lifeline—with minimal side effects and continued progress.

👨‍👩‍👧‍👦 How did you stay emotionally strong?

My family. My husband Roy, daughters and grandchildren gave me reasons to keep going. I also leaned on faith, journaling, and connecting with other survivors. Some days were dark, but even a flicker of hope was enough.

🕊️ What would you say to someone newly diagnosed?

Take it one day at a time. Don’t drown in statistics. Surround yourself with love, ask questions, and advocate for your care. You are stronger than you know. And you are never alone.

🌈 How do you find joy now?

It’s in the little things—watching the sunrise, my grandkids’ giggles, the smell of rain—that I’ve learned joy doesn’t have to be loud. Sometimes, it’s just the quiet miracle of waking up.

With love,

Jennifer

Kissimmee, FL